Adamant
by onelildustbunni
Summary: Adamantium defines Laura in more ways than one. Hellion and X-23.
1. Chapter 1

**TITLE: **Adamant  
**STARRING:** Hellion and X-23  
**UNIVERSE:** 616 Mainstream/AU  
**RATING:** M  
**SUMMARY:** Adamantium defines Laura in more ways than one.  
**SONG: **There are going to be a bunch as I see fit. I'll make a note when I use one.

**A/N: **This ignores Marjorie Liu's X-23 run, and assumes Laura stayed in Utopia, and was present for Julian killing Omega Sentinel. Also, it assumes Laura being as Kyle & Yost wrote her. In terms of narrative style, this is going to be something completely different to those who have read my past work! I went much closer into Laura's world. Much, much closer...mwahaha...hope you like it! I may do others like this in the future since it's just so fun to slip into the driver's seat.

* * *

**ADAMANT**

** Florence and the Machines, Cosmic Love****  
**_A falling star fell from your heart | And landed in my eyes  
I screamed aloud, as it tore through them | And now it's left me blind  
The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out | You left me in the dark  
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight |In the shadow of your heart  
And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat | I tried to find the sound  
But then it stopped and I was in the darkness | So darkness I became  
__I took the stars from my eyes and then I made a map  
And knew that somehow I could find my way back  
Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too  
So I stayed in the darkness with you__  
_**_  
_**

* * *

**CHAPTER 1_  
_**

* * *

**March 11, 21:05**

I look at the door, my eyebrows drawn together, biting my lower lip slightly as I have found I do when I am in situations I do not quite understand. Situations like these, which deal with intangible matters called emotions. Nothing else can cause such frustration to me. I am trained to wait on my knees for hours if instructed, waiting for the perfect moment to pull a trigger. To slip in unnoticed. To steal an object. I am not trained for these matters that are so illogical and tangled.

My handlers and owners attempted to remove emotions entirely from my body. The facility program spent millions of dollars and more than a decade on procedures that were supposed to completely erase my natural sympathies, my tendencies to empathy and affections-but they were not completely successful This makes my present state even more confusing, since they neither failed nor succeeded. I am caught in a state of not understanding, but with the knowledge that this seemingly ideal state—of being an emotional creature—is right at my fingertips. I am almost human.

I am relating this because I am now in a situation requiring emotional mastery. I touch the wood of the door, trying to decide what I will say. Will it matter? Will my words be heard? No one else has come to this door, no one else has felt concern, despite the fact that he is one of us. Gambit told me just yesterday, with a smile: _"We take care of our own, mon chere." _While I acknowledge that his words were regarding a different situation, with different perimeters, I still do not understand why the context would be different. He did not specify certain situations in which 'we take care of our own'.

Given this, I cannot help but wonder why he and the others have consistently excluded my friend.

I have watched his door. There have been many nights that I have sat outside it, not knowing what to do or what to say. I have reverted to my old habits of sitting sentry. And therefore I can say with certainty that no one has made an approach. Not even the people he was once so close to. I asked them, about him, in the cafeteria earlier today. At first no one answered.

"He's not one of us anymore," Cessily had said coldly when I persisted. There had been nods of agreement. I did not understand then, and I do not understand now.

There is one thing I _do _understand, and that is the fact that he is worth preserving, and so I will try to do so now. I do no not know how I will accomplish it. All I know for sure is that his agitation is growing, and the incidents are getting worse…and according to the rumors that I can hear better than anyone else, he is heading for a disaster of some sort. Perhaps this is true, perhaps it is not, but the thought of him leaving me—as everyone else has—causes me to feel the same burning sensation in my chest, the asphyxiation, the absolute will to deny it as fact.

He is associated with a number of strange sensations in my body. When I become aware of his presence, all realms of senses, which is quite overwhelming. There is no other being I have met that causes this reaction. I consider it similar to my reaction to trigger scent, except I do not feel the urge to kill him, or anyone else. On the contrary, I feel a strange sensation that I consider similar to intoxication with substance, perhaps Ecstasy, which I have imbibed several times on missions at the facility. Perhaps I have formed an addiction to this reaction he causes. I become anxious when I know I may see him.

I have never experienced this before, nor do I think I want to. It is difficult, to live knowing that something I crave is outside my body, and not unlimited nor indelible. What would my reaction be if something happened to him?

Slowly I rap on the door, feeling my heart speeding up in my chest already, even though I haven't seen him yet. I hear him move inside the room, moving things aside, mumbling under his breath, and then the door wrenches open violently, and Julian fixes his eyes on me, leaning on the doorframe. I inhale sharply, a wave of tingling passing through my torso to my peripheral structures.

"Laura," he says. Just my name, with a slight sneer. "What's up?"

This will be harder than I thought. I take a few moments to formulate an answer, but nothing comes. Just as it never does when he is waiting for me to speak.

"Whatever," he says, and starts to close his door.

I stick my boot in the space, and look at him. He raises his eyebrows and raises the stumps of his wrists in the air, then steps back—indicating I am free to act as I please. Evidently, he finds my approaching him strange…and it is true that this is out of the ordinary. I prefer to linger in the background, admiring his presence from afar, but I am spurred by the thought that this may no longer be possible. I enter his room, glance around, inhale. It is very messy inside. Used food containers are strewn about, as well as six half-empty liquor bottles. _Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum. Jägermeister. Crown Royal. Kahlua. Fireball. Bombay. _I doubt he has been having mixed beverages. "The legal drinking age is twenty-one," I say, disapproval in my tone.

He folds his arms. "You come here to lecture me about that, X?"

I pause, look at his bed, which is rumpled, and smells like him. I open my mouth and take several breaths through it, passing air past my Jacobsen's organ, like a snake. This gives me a better scent sample, allowing me to process the pheromone chemicals properly.

"Or just to stand there with your mouth agape?"

I turn to him, hesitate. "No. We need to…talk."

His eyebrows raise. "I couldn't have heard you right."

I say nothing. He heard me fine, I can tell that. He is assuming a defensive position, his arms still folded against his chest, his feet apart.

"So, talk," Julian orders me.

I hesitate again, my eyebrows drawing together. "I am…concerned. For you."

A few moments pass, and his expression contorts. "Are you fucking _kidding _me?!" he shouts. "They send the _clone?! _The person who is more messed up than any of us…they send _you_ to—"

"No one sent me."

He stops yelling, but I can see this effect isn't in favor of my mission, either. He looks just as angry. "God, I must be really far gone if the X-men's pet _serial killer _is getting worried."

I say nothing. He turns his head away, his teeth gritted. "So…tell me…what exactly are you worried about?"

"Your safety," I say, because I cannot think of any other way to word it. "I do not—I do not want to lose you."

My voice catches slightly at the end, and he looks at me again. "Lose me?" he asks, his voice about a hundred and ten hertz softer.

I nod but do not elaborate. I don't know how to put my complex feelings and sensations into words. I do not understand how other people can be so communicative about this sort of subject. My instincts tell me to protect it, to treat it like a secret I have been ordered not to divulge—even if I am tortured for it.

"You don't _have _me," Julian says, his voice rising again. "On what planet do you think I would look twice at you, clone?"

I remain silent, watchful. He looks at me, and the anger in his face fades to dullness. "Then again, I'm not that far off from being as freaky as you are." He unfolds his arms, and the stumps hang by his sides.

Right now, I hear his words, but somehow they do not reach me. I am focused on his body language, on the fact that he is relaxing, that he is starting to look at me, that he is not hostile to my presence. I raise my eyes to his, and feel the tingling again, so I flush slightly and tear my gaze away.

"See…you can't even look at me," he says. "Even you. I should just walk off a cliff."

"What would that accomplish?" I ask, puzzled. He can fly.

"An end to this meaningless existence." He kicks a pizza box on the floor. "I'm bored with it."

"It is not meaningless," I say softly.

"It is to me. I'm tired of getting hurt, of behind chopped apart piece by piece, of—"

"I will protect you," I interrupt.

He glares at me. "Right. Just like you protected me for _these._" He holds up his stumps, then lets them drop, yet again. "No, I don't need protecting, X. If I'm this easy to hurt, then I'm dead weight. I'm worthless. You guys are better off with me—"

"You are _not_ worthless," I say fiercely. He stops, surprised, his eyebrows raising as he stares at me—and I feel the tingling again, so I close my eyes. I need to say this. "I would die for you," I say. "I would kill for you. You are important to me."

He says nothing.

"I do not—" I hesitate. I am conflicted. He is forcing me to expose weaknesses that might be used against me later. "I do not want to live without you," I say, in a voice with less volume. I do not sense anyone around us at the moment, but there could be surveillance devices.

A few moments pass. "But you never talk to me," he says. His expression suggests surprise but the rest of his body language does not.

"Because I do not know how." I allow myself a glance at him. "You make me anxious."

He tilts his head slightly. "Why?"

I am beginning to feel uneasy with the amount I have said. "I do not wish to discuss this," I say, something the other children have joked is my 'catchphrase'.

"Oh come _on!" _he says, impatiently. "You can't do this. You come to my room and—and make me think you're finally going to—" he pauses. "You know. Laura, I'm tired of this stupid dance. I don't have time for this shit. If you're going to lead me on with cryptic messages—"

"'Lead you on'?" I ask, unfamiliar with the term.

"Well, that's what you're doing," Julian says, glaring at me. "Two years. Two whole years and nothing. You just linger in the background, gawking at me. You're worse than Sofia, you know." His voice is rising again. "I'm fucking sick of this almost-life I'm living!"

I don't know what to say, so I remain silent. He sighs, reaches up and rubs his stump against his head, then realizes his fingers are gone and scowls. His arm drops to his side.

"I think you should go," he says, less aggressively. "This isn't doing either of us any good. I'm just in a bad mood and you're making it worse by reminding me of everything bad in my life."

I feel something—something hot and painful and light, upon hearing these words. My eyes burn, like I have just let soap run into them. My reaction must be visible, because he's staring at me, with what looks like astonishment. "Are you _crying?" _ he asks.

I say nothing, direct my gaze to the floor, and wait for the sensation to pass. He takes a step toward me, and then another, as if approaching a wild animal. "How about that," he says, examining my face. "So you're not a machine."

I grit my teeth, and glare at him. He seems surprised. "Laura—" he says, raising one of his stumps. "I didn't mean to make you upset, I—"

"Then what _did _you intend?" I demand. He has made me angry. I do not like it when people call me a machine, or an animal.

He pauses. "I don't know," he says, scowling. "I don't know anymore, dammit. You're confusing me." His face contorts. "Just leave."

I hesitate.

"No, I won't keel over and die!" Julian snaps. "Even though I _really_ want to."

Nodding slightly, I move to the door, still stinging from his words. He has implied I am a problem in his life, and the logical thing to do—since I am concerned about his wellbeing—is to remove myself from the situation. But this conflicts with my own interests. I am very confused myself.

I slip outside his room and pull the door closed behind me.

**...**

**March 12, 09:34**

In the morning, I catch a glimpse of him in the cafeteria. I am in the middle of a group of other students, on our way out, and he is sitting at a table and eating a bowl of chicken noodle soup, his head bowed. There is a wide berth of empty seats in his vicinity. I am reminded of my cousin Megan, and her reaction when I informed her that I did not question her sanity. _"I know. You're my only friend."_

I stop, in the doorway, and turn around so that I can walk to his table. "Hi," I say.

Julian doesn't acknowledge me, but I know that he is aware of my presence by the way his shoulders move slightly.

"I do not think you are crazy," I say, because it worked once.

Now he looks up, his eyebrows rising. "What the—"

I sit down on the bench opposite to him, and let my book bag sink to the floor, and force myself to look at him. Perhaps a little too intently.

"Right," he says. "_I'm_ the crazy one here."

I am surprised. Megan had responded much more positively to this approach. Perhaps I will need a new strategy. While I am trying to formulate a plan, he shifts in his seat, and looks at me with an expression that suggests he is wary of my next actions.

"I thought you weren't talking to me," Julian says.

"We are talking now," I respond. His logic at times baffles me, but then, so does everyone else's. I believe I may be the one who is missing something in method, since exasperation is a common reaction to my rebuttals.

He rolls his eyes. "I mean, I thought you were furious with me. You stomped off and everything."

"I am not 'furious' with you," I say, impatiently. Again his logic is unsound. "I left because you asked me to leave."

He thinks for a moment. "Oh. Right." He pauses for a few moments, not more than three and a half. "I don't think you should hang around me anymore."

"By what reasoning?" I inquire.

Julian looks down, and the muscles in his face go taut, as if he is making a physical effort of some sort. "I'm not…I don't think I'm the kind of person you need in your life right now. You have your own problems…and as you can probably tell…I have mine." His tone is subdued and quiet, probably because he does not want anyone else to hear. "So you should stay away from me."

I sit back. I am not used to him making admissions of weakness, of any sort. This new turn of events makes me feel uneasy. He must truly be unwell. "Why?" I ask. "Your problems do not endanger me." I pause. "Although, mine may endanger you, so I agree."

"Whatever," he says. "As long as you get the point."

"The point?" I ask.

"That we're not friends anymore."

"Why are we not friends anymore?" I ask, confused.

"Just leave it," he says, in a flat tone. He picks up his soup spoon and swirls his meal with an expression of disinterest. I do not think it is the soup's fault.

"No, I do not want to 'just leave it'," I argue.

"Really?" he asks, drawling the word slightly and giving me an unimpressed look. "_You _don't understand when I don't want to talk about something?"

I flush a little. He has caught me in an unintended bias. "You never respect my requests," I remind him, since he seems to have forgotten.

"And you never tell me anyway." He drops the spoon against the bowl with a _clink!_ "Laura, I said…I don't want to be friends anymore. It takes two for a friendship. So…it's over."

"Okay," I say, feeling a twinge of burning somewhere inside at the fact that he won't explain his logic to me—and that he hasn't defined how people 'stop being friends'. I get up from the table, take my bag, and start to leave.

"Oh, and Laura—" he calls. I stop and turn.

"Stop saving me," he says.

I feel my face harden, which is a strange sensation. It feels like a muscle spasm. "Never," I say, forcefully.

A few moments pass, and then I walk away, after my classmates, wondering if this excursion was a mistake.

* * *

**March 24, 11:15**

For the next ten days, I keep a very strict routine.

Each day I complete my assignments on the island as usual; these are various tasks, from crop cultivation to security to assisting with repairs from the damage of 'the dome', as the others call the red force field used in Bastion's attack. I serve as a table saw, since I am much more efficient at cutting than the aforementioned accessory.

At precisely 20:45 each evening, I head down the cell block on which his room is located, and sit by the door. I am not certain of my purpose, except for the thought that I am protecting him from something. I failed to protect him during the influx of Nimrod Sentinels. This is unacceptable. I have never failed at anything before. So I sit in the hallway each night and listen to make sure that he is alive and not in distress. The noises I most often hear from his room are loud music being routed through his headphones, intelligible murmuring, energy humming, and bumps, with the occasional violent crash. Hearing the latter sounds always alarm me, and each time I almost take down the door. He usually utters profanities in a conversational tone afterward, which lead me to believe that he is not under attack. I am certain these crashes are him kicking things, which is a form of emotional relief that I understand-having once destroyed a sink in the Xavier School while upset.

On March 24th my routine is severely disturbed. Quentin Quire causes a phenomenal disturbance at an International Arms Control Conference in Bern, Switzerland. He telepathically forces a roomful of World Leaders to divulge national secrets, then makes a worldwide broadcast on the future of mutants. Sentinels are called in, which will become a trend in the coming weeks. Suddenly the conflict-free period is gone, and Utopia is attacked almost daily. I am torn between the missions that Logan and Scott Summers assign to me, and my own personal mission. In the end—recalling, ironically, Logan's orders that I am to explore my individuality and not take any more orders—I choose the latter. I decline an invitation to a 'Mutant History Museum' exhibit, which the other students are attending—and subsequently fail to protect them when the museum is attacked by insurgents who claim to be acting on the orders of the Hellfire Club. In my place, Oya is forced to kill. Logan is furious, and has an argument with Scott Summers about the role of 'child soldiers'. Distracted by this argument, they fail to prevent a self-assembling Super Sentinel from amassing its parts, and it heads straight for Utopia, which is momentarily vulnerable—most of the adults being out on away missions.

The argument is not over. Scott Summers extends an open invitation to any students who wish to remain and fight the Sentinel. Logan takes issue with this, and orders the students to leave, as he has a back-up plan: destroy Utopia. The students intervene and the Super Sentinel is defeated, but Logan decides he has had enough of Scott Summers, and announces that he will be leaving the island at the end of the week—and extends an invitation to any students who want to join him.

I am extremely distressed. This argument is a result of my failure to fulfill my role as the killing machine, a role which Logan had denied was necessary. But his argument was a direct contradiction to another order he had issued me earlier, when I was a member of X-force: we are to protect the innocent. I am confused and embarrassed by my failure, and I spend the next evenings in the hallway wondering what my next actions will be. I cannot leave Utopia if Julian does not, since then I will fail to protect him, but in staying I will severely damage my relationship with Logan. Neither situation is acceptable. I begin to cut my wrists again to relieve my anxiety.

Dr. McCoy seeks me out at this time, and asks me to accompany him on an excursion. He intercepts me in the evening of March 27th as I am heading toward the hallway from the cafeteria. He explains that he is attempting to discover if there is a way to reverse M-day, and that to do so, he has decided to consult with a list of genius level intellects across the globe. There are nine names on the list, and they are all criminals. He has already consulted six of these individuals, but on the last attempt, he was attacked and came very close to being extinguished. He asks that I will accompany him, both as a body-guard of sorts, and as a 'living, unbiased record'. Dr. McCoy also possesses eidetic memory, but he is afraid that he may bring his own prejudices to the subject.

At first I decline his offer because it would mean leaving my post. Surprisingly, Dr. McCoy seems to understand my reluctance. I remind myself that he has senses as keen as mine, and like Logan he must be able to see my reaction to Julian. Dr. McCoy promises to have Danger guard the hallway in my place, but this is not an acceptable compromise to me. Then he points out that if this excursion is successful, guarding the hallway will no longer be necessary, as extinguishing the remaining mutants will be a futile endeavor if more are consistently born. On this sound argument I agree and we set off to find these individuals of high intellect. I will admit that I was mildly curious about them, but I did not question Dr. McCoy, whom I have come to respect.

Soon I understand his wishes to have accompaniment, as the first person we meet turns out to be Nathaniel Essex. I have heard of his 'Mr. Sinister' persona before; he creates clones. At first glance I am instantly on the alert, as he is very dangerous, and I resent anyone responsible for cloning. However, Essex turns out to be well-mannered and agreeable in his conversation with Dr. McCoy, and what is even more notable is his interest in myself personally. He expresses respect for my creator—Dr. Kinney—and asks me a number of questions about myself. Oddly, I do not find these inquiries invasive. He explains afterward that his creations have never acted independently of the purpose for their creation, and that I am the only clone he has ever met that successfully overthrew their creator's programming. Dr. McCoy then tells me we should go, and so we do.

The next individual we visit is someone very confusing. Dr. McCoy explains that he is an 'alternate version' of himself. I am not quite certain what that means. We go into the sewers to meet this man, who is indeed almost identical, except for the fact that his fur is ten to eleven Pantone shades darker. They have an argument that is so complicated that even I begin to lose track of what they are discussing, and this turns to fisticuffs. I begin to intervene and stab the man in the lower section of his linea alba with about an inch of my right foot claw. He escapes and I make pursuit for a few moments, but Dr. McCoy requests that I let him go. His voice indicates that he requires rest, but I suspect his exhaustion is not caused by a lack of sleep.

The last individual we meet with is located in the Patagonia mountains of South America. As we climb the path, Dr. McCoy tells me about the woman we are visiting. Her name is Spiral, and apparently the establishment she runs is called 'The Body Shoppe'. This has been the source of much trouble for the X-men: Psylocke's cybernetic eyes, Donald Pierce's robotics and Lady Deathstrike's cyborg enhancements have all originated from this 'business', which caters to those seeking to augment their biological bodies. I am upset upon hearing this, still shamed by the fact that I had failed to kill Lady Deathstrike in Antarctica. I reassure myself that the next time I will not fail. I suspect beheading her will complete the task.

After a series of complicated entrance rituals and interviews, we are led into the heart of the Body Shoppe by an assistant. In the middle of the room stands a woman with six arms, one set folded defensively, one set on her hips, and the others holding swords. She orders us to state our business, and Dr. McCoy begins to speak, but I fail in my role as a recording device. I am too distracted by the establishment we have entered; I now understand why it is called the Body Shoppe.

The walls are lined with cybernetic attachments, for various purposes. There are many parts I do not understand. There are a good deal that I do: wings, tails, horns, eyeballs, entire faces, arms, legs, feet…and hands. I see a pair of metal hands sitting on a shelf at eye level, and I instinctively reach for them.

Spiral immediately looks at me, stopping in mid-sentence. "Put that down," she tells me.

I look at the hand I am holding. While it is made out of segmented metal, it looks very life-like in shape, and incredibly feels even more so: it is malleable and textured, as if it is a real hand I am holding. The only difference is that it is cold and lifeless.

"Is this for sale?" I ask.

Dr. McCoy looks at me. "Laura, no."

I do not return his gaze. Spiral considers me, although it is difficult to ascertain exactly what she is looking at because she has no pupils. After a moment, she nods.

"The price?" I ask. I have one hundred forty-seven thousand seven hundred and eight dollars, slightly more than when Megan had tried to borrow twenty dollars from me. My investments have already provided returns.

"More than you can afford, little girl," Spiral says, with a slight sneer. "Put it back."

"The _price?" _I repeat.

She arches her eyebrows. "My boss Mojo needs a new toy for his arena," she says.

Dr. McCoy shakes his head. "She's a minor. I am her supervising adult, and I forbid it."

"How long?" I inquire.

Spiral sucks her tongue. "You survive a week…and the hands are yours. Transportation provided."

"Done," I say.

Dr. McCoy's eyes widen. "Laura, you cannot possibly understand what you are agreeing to."

"The contract requires that you explicitly state your agreement," Spiral says. "Since this is an arena with visible spectators. Verbal terms will do. Oh, and you can't hurt the audience."

"I agree to the terms," I say, setting the hand back on the shelf and turning to her. "I will participate in this arena for one week, in exchange for this pair of cybernetic hands. I am ready to go now."

She nods, and one of her index fingers begins to spin in the air. Beside her, a blue-colored portal begins to open—a wormhole—and she makes a gesture for me to enter, with her other hand. I look at Dr. McCoy. "If I am successful, I will return in a week. Please do not tell anyone."

He nods very stiffly. I appreciate and respect him even more. Logan would not respect my choices. I step into the portal, and everything rushes away. My breath is ripped from my lungs, and when I catch it again, I am in the middle of a huge, sand-filled arena. Around me are glass walls, behind which are many thousands of spectators, of various shapes, colors and compositions, but this is hardly remarkable to me after my time with the X-men. A look upward shows that there is a strange grid system of metal pipes, overtop which is a white, puffy dome.

Spiral's portal seals shut behind me.

The audience members all crane their necks and look toward a set of amplifiers, set in each rounded corner of the arena, but I cannot hear what is being said. I assume the purpose of this is to keep me in the dark about what is coming next while building audience participation. My senses, however, tell me that I will not have long to prepare for my first attack.

There are many flatscreen television displays facing the audience, but the only one that I can see is a countdown timer. It displays _167:59:30, _and I realize this is how many hours I will have to survive before I will be returned to the Body Shoppe. I crouch, and realize that my grey-and-black uniform has disintegrated. I am now dressed in strips of leather, which I decide allows for greater freedom of movement. I have no weapons, but I don't need them. The doors of the arena are opening to let in bright white light, and I squint into the distance…and my eyes widen slightly as I take in the size of the figure approaching me. And the shape.

It is a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

The week that follows tests my endurance greatly. I am pitted against foes that are my equals and more. At one point, the sprinkler system above me begins to mist the floor with a sticky, orange fluid: trigger scent. I am terrified that they have discovered my weakness but I do not have much time to think about this as the world goes red for a period of what I later discover is three days. When Spiral's portal finally reopens seven days later—the clock having reached _00:00:00_—I crawl into it, weaker than when I had overstayed the safely allotted amount of time in the future on an X-force mission. In addition to the combat, I have been thoroughly tested in every factor of my survivability. I was drugged, poisoned by venom stingers, tazed, and set on fire twelve times. There was acid rain. I was almost completely ripped in half on three occasions, and my limbs severed more times than I cared to count. Thankfully I managed to recover the limbs and reattach them, so that I would not have to undergo having my Adamantium claws reinserted. I crawled through mazes that appeared out of nowhere, and endured psychological games. The lights went out more than once, and I fought in the dark, with only a light strip on the opponent's collar to guide my actions. During the last twenty-four hours, my healing factor was disabled. No other ill effects were applied, but I was already thoroughly exhausted and my opponents became more and more powerful. At the last hour, Spiral herself appeared in the arena and used magic against me, something I cannot even comprehend. But when the clock hit _00:00, _I was still alive, and the portal opened as suddenly as it had disappeared at the start.

On the other side, I collapse on the floor of the Body Shoppe, almost unconscious. Spiral flings the hands at me with a sour expression and tells me that I will have to arrange my own transport home—and that I have a minute to get out of her shop before she kills me. The only thing on my side is that my healing factor is very slowly returning. Somehow I manage to escape into the mountains, and back to civilization—mostly by rolling down the slope, the hands clutched tightly against my abdomen. When I reach a town with technology, I call Logan from a payphone—the only number I can think of at the moment—and ask him to tell Dr. McCoy that I am finished with my task. He explodes in worry, but I hang up and sit down on a rock to wait. I lose consciousness several times and fall off my perch. On each occasion I wake to the metallic sound of the hands in my lap hitting the pavement, and I am able to recover my senses enough to gather them again.

At some point, Dr. McCoy appears to collect me, along with Pixie. They say many things to me, but as I am not lucid at this point, I do not remember them later. I am not aware of being teleported to Utopia, nor of my refusing the infirmary, as Dr. McCoy later informs me. I walk down the hallway, dragging one leg that has not quite healed from being broken, and knock on Julian's door—and lean my full body weight against the door frame. When he finally answers three minutes and ten seconds later (I am aware of counting), I am confused as to why I am there and he has to yell at me before I remember the hands. I attempt to give them to him, but I drop them on the floor—I remember a heavy metallic thud—and then I join them, face-first.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thanks for the great reviews! Excited to hear y'all like it...lots more to come! Also I hope people will listen to the songs I post in the chapter headings when I do-they are the songs that helped me craft the story, and represent something about it-so it's like bonus content! Although I won't hate you if you don't ;o) Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 2**

* * *

**April 1****st****, 5:15**

When I regain consciousness, I am lying on a stretcher in a dark room that smells very sterile, and there is an intravenous tube in my left wrist. I begin to panic, then I realize that I am not in the facility but rather in the infirmary on Utopia. I try to recall what has happened since I was incapacitated, but there is nothing. I wonder how long it has been. Then I become aware of steady breathing nearby. Straightening my head I see that Julian is asleep by the foot of my bed, his head near my feet and his arms folded underneath. I am surprised by his presence until I remember obtaining the metal prosthetic hands...and even more vaguely, my attempt at delivery. I wonder if he is using them.

My healing factor has returned. I feel somewhat restless, and so I strip off my IV, get out of the stretcher carefully and head outside, closing the door softly in my wake. It is dark outside, and there is a gentle breeze which makes my gown flap around me, but I don't mind. I head out to my usual vantage point at the cliff under the tree and sit down, to quietly observe the ocean. I had thought I might never see again during the last hour of the battles in the arena. Never have I been so uncertain of my own survival...so aware of how close failure lies in wait. Even though I have obviously rested for some time (by the position of the moon overhead I estimate an additional four days since my return were spent in unconsciousness) I am still tired. So I allow my eyes to drift shut.

In the morning I am awakened to the sound of the other students approaching me. They are making derisive comments about my person. I sit up and study them quietly, perhaps less conscious of myself than before. It is a strange reaction, considering that I am more vulnerable now; I am dressed in a green patient's gown, and I am keenly aware of how fragile I am, in direct contrast to the certainty of my nigh invulnerability that I had felt before.

Nori is there, and Santo, and Sooraya. Cessily is absent. Victor is trailing behind them.

"Speak of the devil," Nori says, suddenly noticing that I am nearby. "Look who _finally_ left the hallway."

"He musta kicked her out," Santo agrees, then looks at me more closely. "Why the hell are you wearing a hospital gown?"

"Maybe her next assignment is in a nursery ward," she replies. "You know, for her super-secret killing squad thing."

"Please, stop," Sooraya says.

I get to my feet and head toward the women's dormitories to obtain my regular attire.

"_**JUST SO YOU KNOW X, WE'RE NOT FRIENDS ANYMORE!" **_Nori shouts after me, as loudly as she can. I do not respond, not knowing what to say. This is the second time I have had friendship retracted from me, and I do not even understand the concept. Do they no longer enjoy my company? What has changed? How, in physical terms, does one sever a friendship with a person they share a very small space with? Nori is my next door neighbor. She will have to see me almost daily.

After I have completed my errand (a quick change into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt), I decide to obtain nutrients. I pass the infirmary on my way to the cafeteria but stop midway, because Julian is shoving the door out of his way as he runs out. He spots me and skids to a stop.

"When did you wake up?!" he demands, clearly agitated.

"Last night," I say, noticing that he is indeed wearing the hands I had obtained. "Will they serve?" I inquire. There is a tense pause, and suddenly I am afraid that my entire week in Mojo's arena has been wasted. This is entirely illogical because, after all, he _is_ making use of them.

"Laura..." he says. His face has contorted, and his voice is strange, as if he is asphyxiating, but I cannot see anything constricting his air passages. I crane my neck, trying to see if something has taken hold of him from behind, but there is still nothing. It must be an emotional response.

"Is something wrong?" I ask. Perhaps he is angry at my intervening in his affairs, my disobedience of his request that we sever our ties.

"Yeah." He reaches up and rubs his neck with his new hand, and looks down. "I don't deserve you," he says. "I don't understand. I told you we weren't friends anymore…and…well…Dr. McCoy told me exactly what you did to get these." He pauses. "He was really angry. He lectured me the whole time he was helping me get used to the hands…and he _growled _in my face_._"

I raise my eyebrows. Dr. McCoy is usually very soft spoken.

"I just don't understand you," he repeats.

"And I do not understand you," I say, as calmly as I can. "You are my friend. Why wouldn't I help you?"

"Because I don't treat you like a friend." He pauses. "Laura, what can I do to make it up to you?"

I am about to say 'nothing,' then I pause. An answer to the dilemma I had worried so much about before Spiral and the Arena has just presented itself. "Come with me to Logan's school," I say.

He blinks. "But that's not enough," he says.

"It will suffice," I say. "I have not left Utopia yet because you did not want to go, and if I do not go with Logan, I believe it may damage our relationship beyond repair." I pause. "I understand if you cannot do this. Your allegiance to the X-men is—"

"Fuck the X-men," he says. "Of course I'll go with you. Do you even realize what you've done for me? I have hands again. _Hands. _I can't even…I don't have words." He looks at me, and I flush slightly, feeling the usual pull…and I see him, somehow, responding. He takes a step toward me and is about to reach out and touch me with his hand when we hear approaching footsteps. They are quite heavy. We both stop, and turn to see that Logan is approaching us. He does not look happy.

"Laura," he almost growls. "We need to talk."

I sigh slightly. Instinct tells me that something interesting was about to occur between me and Julian, something that is an answer to the years of confusion I've experienced since meeting him.

"Wait!" he says, as I head toward Logan. I stop, and look at him again, in question.

"I'll be in the rec room," he says. "Come find me when you're done, okay?"

I nod slightly, turn back to Logan and note that he looks even angrier. "Get over here!" he snaps.

Logan walks for a length of time without speaking. His body language indicates that he is very displeased with me: shoulders tense, mouth twitching, hands flexing. The overall effect is similar to when had had learned of my joining X-force. I say nothing as well, following him down to the beach.

He leads me to a log near the shore, then gestures for me to sit down before doing so himself. With a quizzical look I do as requested. Logan looks out across the water.

"_Never _do that again, half-pint," he says, his teeth gritted. "Do you _hear_ me?"

"Do what again?" I ask. I suspect he is not pleased with my disobeying Dr. McCoy's orders, but it is always better to ask for a full analysis of the situation.

"You know exactly what I'm talkin' about," he snarls. "You were stupid, Laura. Throwin' your life out on the line for that kid. You know he ain't worth it."

My facial expression changes slightly, and Logan pauses.

"Do you remember the fifth of November, last year?" I ask him.

"Refresh me," he replies, his eyebrows raised.

I straighten slightly. "I expressed my suspicions that your emotional connections to Rahne Sinclair were allowing the mission to be compromised."

Logan looks annoyed. "I dunno what that's got to do with anything," he says.

I am undeterred. "You told me that Rahne has two things we will never get back," I reply. "Hope and innocence. You told me that she is who we save, why we risk our lives, and who we die for. You told me this while holding me up against a tree with your hand on my jugular and windpipe in a gesture of subordination."

He looks down, unable to meet my eyes. "Kid, those were different times."

"Your advice was sound," I say. "I did not forget it."

Logan pauses, looks up again, a little relieved that I do not think badly of him for his actions. "I thought you didn't get it."

"Not at the time." I hesitate. "But now I think I do."

He shakes his head. "This is different, kid. Keller's always been a no good snot."

"You said we will never get back our hope and innocence," I say. "Implying that we once had both. If _we_ did…why would he be different?"

Logan thinks about this, then gives me an annoyed look. "Stop using my own logic against me."

"We will come to your school," I say, relieved that I am able to say this.

His annoyance fades. "Good," he says for the second time today. "Glad to hear it, kid." He pauses, reaches over and ruffles my hair with his hand. "Just don't let me hear about you riskin' your life for him again, okay?"

"Okay," I say, smiling slightly.

**…**

**April 1****st****, 8:22**

A while after this Logan finally dismisses me and I head toward the Rec center as fast as I am able, pushing several people out of my way in the process. I would like to find out what it is that Julian was about to do earlier. When I arrive at the building and pull the door open, I look around the room and see him standing in the center along with several other of our friends. Or former friends, as they insist we are no longer affiliated. I head toward them with a questioning expression, sensing that something is not right about the situation.

"Oh look," Nori says, seeing me. "Here's Utopia's _other _cold-blooded murderer."

"Why aren't they in the cells?" Hope Abott asks, scowling in my direction. "I don't feel safe with them walking around loose."

Julian looks over at me, presumably for my reaction. His face is red. "What took you so long?" he demands.

"I—" I begin.

"Oh you know her," Nori cuts in. "She was probably off killing somewhere…or getting orders for her next hit. Maybe it's _you!_"

"Never know," Santo adds from the background.

"Let's go," Julian says to me, his teeth gritted.

"Where?" Nori steps toward me. "I have a right to know what you're up to. Who you're killing next. I have a right to defend myself."

"Cyclops has never asked me to kill any of you," I say.

"I guess we weren't important enough," Santo says.

"Not important enough to be told, or to be killed," Nori says. "What a crock of shit. We're supposed to be the next generation of X-men, but I doubt we'll outlive our elders." She points at Julian with her thumb. "Especially not with psychopaths like _him _around, killing our own."

Julian's eyes begin to light up, and he takes a step forward. _**"THAT'S EN-" **_he begins, but stops and looks down at his arm, which I have instinctively reached out and grasped.

"No," I say.

A moment passes. "You're right," he says. "They're not worth it."

"Look at that...he takes orders from the _clone_ now!" Santo says, sounding amused.

Nori grins. Julian heads out of the rec room and I follow him, my lips set into a line of worry. I do not know how far he would go if he was angered again. Would he hurt his former friends?

"Thanks," he says, once we're outside. "I was going to deck Santo but I really don't need more heat right now. What a _douche._"

I say nothing. He stops and looks up at the sky. It is a clear night, and there are many stars visible since there are no city lights to compete. "Beautiful out," he says.

Again I say nothing. I watch him. I am uncertain of so many things right now that it is difficult to concentrate on the moment. To add to this, his presence is causing me to become increasingly anxious. I wish for a task, for something else to focus on. "Logan is leaving tomorrow," I say, my voice little more than a dry whisper. For some reason it is not cooperating. "At seven hundred hours. Make sure you are ready."

"Not soon enough in my opinion," Julian says, looking down from the sky at me. I feel my cheeks burn, and I drop my eyes to the ground. Why did I speak? Then he reaches out, and his metal fingers touch under my chin and lift it up slightly. They feel surprisingly warm and _real._

"You can look at me if you want," he says, sounding uncertain himself. "I don't mind."

I swallow, and try to meet his eyes, but doing so causes a feverish sensation similar to what I experienced when I refused to remove my time piece in the future. This is an alarming association and so I look away quickly, afraid I am damaging myself. His fingers leave my chin. "Why can't you look at me?" he asks, sounding upset. "Is it my hands? It's my hands, isn't it?" His metal hands ball into fists at his sides. "I _**DON'T**_ want your _**PITY**, _clone!_" _he snaps, his eyes lighting up and casting a green light on my face. "Why don't you just go inside with _them _and leave me be?"

My eyebrows draw together. I sense that remaining silent will only make him angrier, but I don't know what to say. After a moment, I think of something. "I have never felt pity," I say.

Julian raises his eyebrows. "For me? Or for anyone?" His tone is challenging.

"For no one." I pause. "No, that is not true. Once. But not for you."

"For who?" he asks, less of a demand now. He is curious. The light in his eyes has faded.

I hesitate. I don't want to tell anyone about Kiden's destiny. "A friend," I say, my tone soft. "She needed to die."

"You killed her?" Julian asks.

I shake my head. "Someone else did, before I could stop them."

His eyes narrow. "What do you mean, she _needed_ to die?"

I look up at him again. "Please…I do not want to talk about this."

A few moments pass. "Okay," he says. "Talk about something else then."

"About what?" I ask.

He shrugs. "You pick."

My eyebrows draw together, and I look away, thinking, but no possible topics arise. I try to recall the conversations me and Megan once had, but they are unhelpful; she did most of the talking, and her topics would probably not interest Julian. I see his expression changing to anger again, and I panic briefly. I do not want him to leave, now that he is my friend again.

"The human body contains an average of six quarts or five point six liters of blood," I say.

He gazes at me, as if this is not enough. I feel ashamed of my lack of ideas, and I look down. _Stupid clone, _Kimura whispers in my ear.

"Don't you know anything but killing?" Julian demands.

I am afraid to say no. "It is what I am best at," I offer carefully. _Animal, _Rice adds.

"Maybe you _should_ give me tips," he says, his lip curled.

"No." I shake my head. He smiles slightly. "Relax, I wasn't _serious_."

"Oh." I glance at him. "Why did you say it, then?"

"For reaction." He reaches out to me again and brushes a strand of hair out of the way of my face. "You never react to anything, you know…well, except me." A brief pause, and when he speaks again his voice is two hundred and fifty hertz softer. "I kind of like that."

"Oh," is all I can think of to say.

"Sorry I yelled at you," he says. "I get frustrated."

I say nothing. Frustration and anger is nothing new to me. It has been taken out on me many times. More times than I can count. His shouting is insubstantial compared to Kimura's beatings. And the chainsaw that she has recently acquired. There was also Rice's fists, and scalpels, and drills, and radiation machines...and the gun that Zebra Daddy used to press against my temple, whispering '_Bang' _in my ear. And Logan's hand on my throat, the Adamantium bones and superior strength of his fingers crushing my trachea.

"I don't know you," Julian murmurs. "You're like no one I've ever met. I mean…you've been with us for what, two years now?"

I nod.

"I don't even know your last name," he says. "Or your birthday. Or what you're into. I just know you've killed people…and that you can be really _weird _sometimes…but there's something about you that I can't forget." He grins slightly, his metal thumb now touching my cheek. "No matter how hard I try."

My eyes widen at the touch.

"Relax," he orders, stepping closer.

"What are you doing?" I ask tentatively, stepping backward.

"Well…" he gives me an annoyed look. "I was _trying _to make a move on you."

"A move?" I wonder if he is speaking of attack, but that does not seem to fit this situation.

"You know." He closes his eyes. "Laura, if you don't like me...just say it so I can stop embarrassing myself. I have enough problems."

"'Like' you?" I have heard this before, from Cessily, in the Café before Kimura attacked us. She had elaborated that it was called a '_crush_', and that she '_totally understands about having feelings for someone who doesn't necessarily return them'. _She had looked sad, and now that I think of it, she must have been referring to Kevin Ford. I have spoken to her once or twice since on the subject when I found her crying in the locker rooms. She regrets his death, and I understand this keenly.

"Yeah." Julian's forehead is wrinkled. "Do you think I'm ugly now? Because of my hands?"

"I like your hands," I say, confused. "I nearly extinguished myself obtaining them. Do you...do _you_ not like them?"

"I love them." He looks at me again. His expression is oddly vulnerable. I sense that if I say the wrong thing, he will be hurt. "I meant…more in a package way."

"A package?" I feel frustrated. I know I do not want to hurt him, but his language confuses me. "How are you a package?"

"Did the other kids put you up to this?" he demands, sounding angry again. I am failing.

"Up to what?" I ask, my tone also firm.

He grits his teeth. "Goodnight, Laura." And starts to turn away. I reach out and grasp his arm for the second time tonight. "No, please," I say. "I don't understand what you are saying. Why would I think that you are ugly?"

He pauses. "The fact that I'm not even a whole person," he says, bitterly. "You can't be this oblivious. _No one_ is, unless you grew up in a barn eating hay."

I hesitate. "I grew up in a cell, eating processed food cubes…but how is that is relevant?"

Julian looks at me again, his eyes narrowed into slits. "…_huh?_"

My face feels hot again. "Never mind," I say, letting my hand drop. This is verging into uncomfortable territory.

But he seems to have gotten something from my comment. Perhaps it is something I did not intend to convey. "Wait…you grew up _where _again?" he asks.

"In the facility," I say nervously.

He raises his eyebrows. "The facility…the place with that psycho Kim-something, right?"

"Kimura," I correct, afraid that saying her name will cause her to appear. "Yes. But not in New York. Another one like it."

He reaches up and runs his metal fingers through his hair. "You mean…you didn't have a home?"

"No," I say. The cell was not a home. I understand what a home really is from the brief time I spent with Debbie and Megan.

"Okay," he says, sounding uncertain. "Did you go to school?"

"No, I was tutored," I say.

"What did your mom do?" he asks next.

"She was a geneticist," I say. "She designed me, from Logan's cells."

Julian looks confused. "But she…you know…had you? Like gave birth to you and everything?"

"Yes, but I was taken at birth," I say. "Our contact was limited." I feel increasingly nervous. I don't want to tell him how my mother died. No one knows this, except for Emma Frost and Logan. I bite my lip. "Please, I don't want to talk about this."

"But…" he pauses. "I need to know who you are. I had no idea that you _lived_ there." He stops. "Wait, Kimura was your _handler. _You said that to me."

"Yes." I look down.

"She seemed like a real bitch," he comments.

I say nothing, but my eyes are now burning. I can still hear her threats as if she in front of me: _"I'm never going to stop, never! I'll find Morales…your little classmates…your telekinetic boyfriend…I'll kill them __**ALL**__. I'll kill everything you love. The first person on my list is Megan. Do you __**hear **__me? That little bitch is __**FUCKING DEAD!**_

I can't see her but I know what she looks like: murderous.

"Are you crying?" he asks in astonishment, snapping me back to the present from my memory.

"I—" I reach up and wipe my eyes on my sleeve, frustrated with myself. Short of understanding my emotional responses, I should be able to at least control them. "No. I just don't want to talk about this. Please."

"Laura—" he reaches out again and helps me wipe the fluid off my cheeks with his hands, then cups my face. This is the most anyone has touched me since my mother, and I don't know how to respond. So I stand completely still, my eyes widening.

"I like you," he says. "I can't tell how you feel about me…but you're my friend, okay? And I know you want my friendship, at least. You can tell me things and I won't ever tell anyone else, I swear."

My nose has started to run. I sniff. "You told me we weren't friends."

He looks impatient, his lips curling downward by a few degrees, perhaps five on each side. "Just forget that I said that. It was stupid of me."

"How do people stop being friends?" I press. Perhaps he will define this for me. "I have heard that a lot lately…and I am confused. I don't understand what changes."

"Nothing, really," he says. "I guess…we just say it when we're mad, to make ourselves feel better." He rubs my cheek with his thumbs, still cupping my face. I realize that nothing is expected of me. I begin to relax.

"I wasn't angry at you when I said that," he continues. "Not really. I was...I was hurt that you never spoke to me, all that time...I mean, we _live_ in the same place. And then I found out about what Cyclops made you do and I understood...but it still hurt...and I kind of thought you had enough to deal with, with all the others giving you flack about X-force…so I wanted to push you away." Pause. "I'm sorry. It was wrong."

I don't say anything, but he frowns slightly, closes his eyes and leans closer. For a moment I wonder what I should do, but I decide that nothing unpleasant has happened yet...so I don't move away this time. I stand still, and allow him to press his mouth against mine. My eyebrows draw together. I think this is a very odd thing for him to do, but I don't attempt to escape. And a second and a half later, I realize that I do not _wish_ to escape.

It seems correct, somehow, like we have made some kind of connection between parts that fit. I am dazed, and disorientated, as if I have been drugged by an unseen dart. His hands have moved down my body, to my hips, and then to my hands, taking them lightly. The metal feels warm and very lifelike, except it is smooth, not textured like skin. Then he pulls away. He takes one look at my expression and frowns. "That bad, huh?" he asks.

I blink, then smile slightly. Somehow it is easier to meet his gaze. "No," I say simply. My cheeks are still burning but I don't feel alarmed.

He reaches around me and pulls me against his front, in an embrace. I lean my head against his shoulder and close my eyes. He rubs my back with one hand, and very slowly, I begin to relax.

"This should have happened a long time ago," he says finally, beside my ear. I wince slightly at the loudness, but at the same time it is interesting that my other ear hears it as vibrations through his shoulder. I say nothing, but I don't feel anxious about my silence right now. We stand for a while in the courtyard, until Loa and Viktor pass by and stammer apologies.

"What the hell was up with them?" Julian asks. "It's not like we were naked."

"Maybe we were," I say, not quite certain what I mean. He gives me an odd look, then shakes his head, as if he has not heard me right. "You said we leave early tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Maybe it's bedtime then." He yawns. "I don't know about you…but I'm beat. This was a big day."

"Okay." I do not want to stop whatever we were doing, but I suppose it is the only way for me to see if it will happen again. I step backward, breaking our contact. "I will see you in the morning, then."

"See you," he says. He waves slightly at me, and I head toward the women's dorms. When I reach the hallway, however, I stop and alter my trajectory. I do not sleep well in the small metal rooms here on the island. They are too reminiscent of my aforementioned cell. I prefer to sleep outdoors, usually under the tree overlooking the ocean. The other inhabitants of Utopia find this strange, my sleeping outdoors. The adults have spoken to me with concern, and my classmates regard this as yet another reason to avoid me altogether...or to taunt me, as Nori and her friends do on a regular basis now. When I first came to Xavier's, such judgment would have upset me. I am no longer bothered by their opinions. I have seen enough of their own vulnerabilities and oddities to know that they are not perfect themselves.

I reach the tree and sit down, hugging my knees to my chest and looking out across the water. Then I let my eyes slide shut, and I begin to process this new sensory data that I have acquired. I think over and over of the sensations, the smells, the sounds…what he'd said…and I feel anxious, but a new kind of anxiety. I don't know what it is yet. Eventually I decide to regenerate, and my consciousness terminates.

**…**

**April 2****nd****, 1:45**

I awake very suddenly, aware that someone is approaching me. Raising my head from the grass, I sniff the air, my claws ready to emerge at any moment. Hopefully that will be soon enough if I am attacked.

But the scent is recognizable as Julian's, and I relax. Then I begin to feel concern. Why is he out here, at this hour? I am alarmed; I should have been in the hallway, standing guard. _Constant vigilance, _I scold myself as I sit upright. Coming to the tree to think was selfish and could have resulted in his death.

I study him, walking up the hill. He hasn't noticed my presence yet. His hands are in his pockets and his forehead is wrinkled, and every now and then he kicks the ground with his sneaker. When he is about ten yards and two feet away he looks up and sees me.

"I thought you'd be out here," he says.

I say nothing, surprised. He was looking for me?

"Couldn't sleep either?" he asks, when he reaches me and stops at my side. I gaze up at him.

"No, I was sleeping but you woke me." I rub my knees.

"Oh. Sorry." He sinks down to look me in the eyes. "Do you really sleep out here?" he asks, his forehead still wrinkled. I purse my lips. Does my disregard for the judgment of others extend to him as well?

"Yes," I say warily.

"Why?" he asks.

I hesitate. "I don't like small spaces."

"Oh." He pauses, then stretches out his hand and sits down beside me. "Nice view," he says, still looking at me. I arch my eyebrows but say nothing.

"You don't mind me being here, right?" he asks, looking out at the water now, his eyebrows drawing together. "I mean...I guess if you sleep out here then it's kind of private—"

"It is a public area." I lean back against the tree. It is confusing to be in his presence while I am still slow with sleep. Again I scold myself, for not being ready for an attack at any moment. _Sensei Tanaka would be ashamed. _

"I got to thinking about earlier," he says, his voice a little uneven. "And I—I couldn't sleep. It _happened, _right? I didn't just go crazy or something?"

"You seem to be mentally sound," I say after a moment. I do not want to tell him about my doubts, about my fears that he is losing himself.

He looks at me again. "I kissed you." A question.

I say nothing. His heart beat speeds up slightly, and he swallows, anxious about whatever he's going to say next. "And you liked it, right?" he continues.

I nod, slightly.

"So…what are we now?" he asks.

I am further confused, my own forehead wrinkled now. "What do you mean?"

"Well—" he twists so that he is looking me in the eyes again. "I don't want to pressure you…I mean, I know we just...it just happened. But it's been two years of us going back and forth and...and I just need to know."

"Know?" I ask.

"What us kissing meant to you." He swallows again. "Was it just that…or does it mean we're together now?"

I feel rising anxiety as I realize that nothing he has just said makes any sense to me. "I do not understand what you are talking about," I say carefully.

Julian shifts slightly, but he does not seem angry. He threads his fingers through the grass and bites his lip as he tries to think of a way to explain his question to me. I look down, feeling inadequate. If I were one of the other students, I would be able to comprehend things right away. _Dumb clone, _Kimura whispers.

I bite my lip.

"Do you want to do it again?" he asks.

I nod almost immediately.

"And is there anyone else you plan on kissing?" he continues.

I blink. "I have never considered it," I say, surprised by the idea.

"Okay," he says, seemingly relieved. "That settles it, I guess." He grins at me, quite suddenly, and I am fascinated; I have almost forgotten what his happier expressions look like. "You have no idea how good I feel right now," he says.

"Okay," I say, smiling slightly. "I am pleased to hear that."

His eyes shift over my face, as if he is studying me very carefully for a memory test later. I completed many of these as a young child. _How many objects were in the room? Where were they placed? Did you see a red umbrella? A dog? A knife? Where was the gun?_

"You're pretty," he says. I blink, pulled away from my memory, but when I analyze what he has said I do not know the correct response. He doesn't seem to be concerned by this, as he reaches out and tucks some of my hair behind my ear. I am pleased that I did not tie it back today. He moves suddenly, and his arm slides around my back. I stiffen in surprise and uncertainty.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Relax," he says.

After a while I find this easier to do. We sit in silence for a while. My eyelids slide shut again and my consciousness is terminated again for regenerative purposes.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**Thanks for the reviews! Seven, this is a Laura/Julian story as is stated in the first chapter, please read the heading before starting a story if that bothers you. Hope you all continue to enjoy it! I am having a blast writing it and have so many plans. There's even a Julian's PoV companion story in the works! :o)

* * *

**Chapter 3  
**

* * *

**April 2****nd****, 6:03**

When I regain consciousness, dawn is already breaking and I feel slight alarm for having slept in. "Wake up," I say, shaking Julian's shoulder slightly. "We need to go."

His eyes open, and he raises his head from where it has been pressing against my shoulder. He looks around at his surroundings, then at me. His eyebrows draw together. "Am I dreaming?" he asks.

"No," I say.

Pause. "Am I _dead?_" he asks, now smelling of fear.

"No," I repeat. "Why do you ask?"

"You're here," he says. "Wait—why are we outside? Oh, wait. I remember." He shakes his head, then sits up and rubs his face with his new hands. "Smooth," he mumbles.

"What's smooth?" I ask.

"Me," he says. "I was being sarcastic though." He stretches, yawning widely behind one of arms. "What time is it?" he asks, when he finishes this.

"Oh-six-hundred and four minutes," I say. "Logan said the jet will leave by seven. We should prepare…you will need to pack, as will I."

"All I want to bring is right here," he says, looking at me.

"That would be impractical," I say. "You will need a few changes of clothes in order to attend the school."

Julian continues to look at me, in what I think is exasperation. "What…oh, god, never mind." He pauses. "It should take me like five minutes to scoop up my bathroom stuff…and my clothes. Most of my stuff got blown up with the school."

I say nothing. My belongings were also destroyed in the attacks, but I viewed this as a sign that I should not have so many possessions. The most I have repurchased is an eye lining pencil and a tube of dark red lip color so that I could continue to make myself look like when Megan had painted my face. Doing so each morning is calming. It makes me feel as if she is present.

"Damn, I'm sore," he says, shifting his legs.

"You should have returned to your bed," I reply.

He shakes his head. "Small price to pay."

"For what?" I inquire.

"For waking up next to you." He pauses, grins. "That sounded really cheesy….bit too early for me to think straight."

"It is quite late," I say disapprovingly, used to waking up at four hundred hours every morning. "You should not have slept out here."

He stares at me. "Come on, Laura, you can't be serious. You're just going to skip over that _completely?_"

My eyebrows draw together. He makes an exasperated sound and pushes himself to his feet, obviously displeased with something I have done. He stomps down the path. I hesitate for a moment, then I rise and start after him, hurrying to catch up.

"Julian?" I call.

He stops and looks over his shoulder. "What do want?" he demands, his lip curled.

"To know…what I did wrong," I say.

For a few moments he is silent, his expression familiar: annoyed and dismissive. Then it softens as the muscles in his face relax. "You said I shouldn't have stayed out here last night."

I blink twice. "You indicated that you are in pain and that your cognition was impeded by lack of sleep," I say. "All probably caused by your inexperience in sleeping on hard surfaces."

"But I wanted to spend time with you," he says. "I didn't want last night to end."

"Oh." I pause, then smile slightly. I am uncertain what to say, but it seems like my reaction is enough because he smiles too. He reaches out and takes my hand, and I am again surprised by how lifelike it feels—even though I should be used to it by now. "Come on…help me pack," he says.

"But you said '_it should take me like five minutes to scoop up my bathroom stuff…and my clothes_'. Why do you need help?" I ask, confused.

He closes his eyes. "You can lay on the bed and watch me stuff them into a duffle bag, okay, Miss Literal?"

"Okay," I agree. "But my name is not Miss Literal, it—"

"Yes it is." He pulls me along the path, and I decide not to pursue the point.

**…**

**April 2****nd****, 6:25**

"Done," Julian announces, dropping a bag onto the floor beside the bed on which I am lying. He was quite far off his estimate; the total elapsed time since when he began packing and now is seven minutes and fifty-two seconds. He will need to drastically improve his sense of time if we are to spend more of it together, since it is not inconceivable that we will need to engage in combat together—and timing is of utmost importance.

"How's that for record time?" he asks as he sits down beside me.

"You wasted time re-folding your clothing," I scold. "And it was not necessary to sort your grooming implements so precisely. You took two minutes and fifty-two seconds more than your estimated five minutes, which is unacceptable."

He says nothing.

"You will need to work on your timing," I continue. "You could get yourself killed with a discrepancy so large."

"I'm just going to pretend you were impressed," he says, a few moments after my sentence has finished. "Because there's no way you can be serious right now."

"No, don't pretend that I am—" I begin, irritated. He suddenly reaches around my middle and twists around so that he is lying on his back with myself on top of him, then pulls me down and presses his mouth against mine again. I am startled into silence but only momentarily. "—impressed with you," I continue, drawing away. "And do _not_ interrupt me when I am lecturing you about your short comings. I am concerned for your survival."

He closes his eyes. "You _knew_ it was going to be like this," he mumbles.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says. "Laura…this wasn't a fight. I was just packing some stuff. Relax, okay?"

"You _always _need to be aware of the passing time," I argue. "And your environment."

"I'll work on it, okay?" He moves his hands down from my back to my buttocks. "Just relax. We're not fighting anyone right now."

I press my lips into a line, but do not continue lecturing him.

"You're pretty," he says with much less volume. "You're _beautiful. _I think all the other girls here look stupid compared to you." He pauses. "I've always wanted to tell you that…but it never seemed like the right time, you know? We're always getting blown up or stabbed or hunted or yelled at by the others in this dump…and I wanted you to actually _hear _it…" his metal thumbs press into my hips. "You're mine, right?" he asks.

I hesitate. I have had many owners over the years that I have been alive: Martin Sutter, Zander Rice, Wilson Fisk, Zebra Daddy…and then myself. Now Julian is asking to own me. But I sense there is a difference in this. He is _asking _me, whereas the others did not.

I hope he will not seek to cage me.

Seeing my hesitation, he takes my hands and presses them against his breastbone, his expression serious. "I'm yours," he says. "Always."

This is startling, and unfamiliar. My eyes widen with my alarm, and he notices this because he asks: "You okay?"

"Yes," I say, troubled. "I have never owned anyone before. What is your most recent estimated value?"

He stares at me. "What?" he asks, in a voice much louder than before—perhaps by three hundred hertz.

"I was priced to be worth one hundred and ten million dollars by the Facility about six years ago," I explain. "Since you have proposed a trade, I think it is only fair that I know how much you are worth."

Julian opens his mouth, but says nothing for a while. I know I have done something wrong, and I feel guilty and irritated with myself again for my inadequacies.

"Laura, I'm not…I wasn't…" he reaches up and rubs his face with his palms. "Jesus,Laura, I didn't mean _slavery. _What the _fuck?_"

I do not know how to respond, so I remain silent. He finally looks at me again. "I think I know why you don't talk much," he grumbles.

I feel my face growing hot, but am aware it is situational and not illness-related since I have now experienced the phenomena several times. It seems to be related to shame responses. "You indicated possession," I say, my voice not as loud as usual because I am not all that certain I wish to speak anymore.

"I didn't mean literally," he explains. "It was just a figure of speech. Something you say in the moment."

"In the moment?"

"Yeah. What we were having until you spoke up."

"Oh." I hesitate. "Do we need a legal contract for this trade?"

He sighs. "No. You know what…just forget it, okay?"

"Okay," I say, a little regretfully. I sense the meaning of what he said was on a level of understanding that I have yet to attain…and it makes me feel more impatient to reach it. He gets up and heads for the door, picking up his bag on the way, and I remain in place for a few moments.

"Coming?" he asks me finally.

I nod and proceed to follow.

**…**

**April 2****nd****, 6:44**

I finish my packing in three minutes and two seconds, and then we head out to where Logan is loading the jet. He seems relieved to see me—even giving me a smile—and instructs us to head to the back of the plane. We find a pair of seats on the right hand side, behind Anole and Santo. They say nothing to us as we pass.

I am relieved to see that Nori is not present.

The jet takes off at precisely 7:05, and Julian—who is sitting beside the window—turns his head to watch the island fading from view. "Goodbye Hell-on-earth," he says.

My eyebrows draw together. "The correct—"

"Utopia, I _know_," he says. "What an ironic name."

I do not make further comment. He shrugs and straightens in his seat. "Maybe the school will be okay," he mumbles.

"Logan has said that there will be courses again," I offer. "And better food."

Santo turns around in his seat and looks over the top at us. "Dude, is the clone _talkin'?!" _he demands loudly.

"Mind your own business!" Julian snaps.

"Hey now—can't blame me," the other boy protests. "Never heard her voice before."

"Yes you have," I interject.

"I meant, not enough to know you was smart enough to form sentences." Santo stares at me for a moment. "So, you teachin' him how to kill?"

"No," I reply. "That would require sentences."

"Oh." Santo looks confused. "Wait…did you just…"

"I think she did," Julian says.

"Huh." The other boy peers at me closer. "Guess you learn somethin' new every day. Why'd you join X-force?"

I consider this. Julian is looking at me too, with curiosity, and I sense that silence will not be enough. But Cyclops ordered me never to discuss our directive. I hesitate. "I was needed," I say.

"Oh," Santo says again. He thinks. "You kill a bunch of people?"

"Yes," I say.

Julian looks at me, but I can't tell if he is alarmed by or accepting of this fact.

"You like it?" Santo asks next.

"No," I say. If I have not formed close associations with my target, I experience neither positive nor negative emotions when they die.

"Oh," Santo says for the third time. "Well, okay. Thought you had a fetish for it or somethin'."

"Right," Julian says, rolling his eyes. "We done playing twenty questions?"

The other boy looks at him now. "What about _you? _You like killin', right?"

"The fuck, Santo…no I don't!" Julian glares at him. "I _told_ you all—the Sentinel was attacking us! When she went for the kid…I wasn't going to stand there with my thumbs up my ass and watch her cream a six-year-old, okay?"

"You didn't have no thumbs then," Santo says in a tone of accusation.

My companion rolls his eyes. "Figure of speech. I don't know why I even waste time explaining things to you…you never get it anyway."

"Well, I have a right to know who I'm sharin' this plane ride with!" Santo says. "I don't wanna fall asleep and wake up dead."

"You can't '_wake up dead'_, Santo," Victor interjects.

"Also, you are practically immortal," I add.

Santo pauses. "_Oh yeah,_" he says in a manner that implies relief. "Right. I keep forgettin'."

"You are literally the stupidest person I know," Julian says, his lip curled.

"That's no fair!" the other boy protests. "I just didn't think of that, okay? That don't make me dumb!"

"It sure does," Victor says. "I can't wait till this plane lands so I can get away from you."

"Shut up, Borkowski." Santo looks at Julian. "I guess we're okay. I kept getting' edgy round you coz I thought you were gonna go psycho. I forgot that you can't hurt me."

"What about _me?_" Victor demands. "And your other killable friends?"

"Long as I'm okay, s'all good," Santo says easily. "You guys can take care of yourselves if you're that worried."

"I hate you." Victor begins to put in his earbuds for his MP3 player. Julian looks at me, his eyebrows arched. "You people are so weird," he says.

"I heard that!" Santo replies.

We are silent for the rest of the flight.

**…**

**April 2****nd****, 14:39**

"Welcome to the Jean Grey School for Higher Learning," Logan announces, as he hauls open the side door of the jet and steps aside.

Julian shoves people out of his way—and mine, because he is clasping my wrist—to get to the front. We walk down the ramp and onto the hill overlooking the school grounds, the sun-dried grass crackling under our boots. And then we are gazing down at the Xavier Institute.

Or what _used _to be the Xavier Institute.

There is rubble everywhere. Only the foundation of the school has remained intact, and beneath it, part of the subbasement is visible. Broken equipment and shattered glass is abundant, and I can smell decomposition of organic matter. The pavement is crumbling in many places with star-shaped impact markings, where Sentinels had landed during some phase of the final attacks on the school.

Julian's hand tightens on my wrist.

"It'll be a fixer-upper," Logan says, coming to stand beside me. "I'm thinkin' of offering extra credit for volunteerin'. Or paid jobs, or somethin'."

"At least it's honest," Julian says. "I'd rather live here than a place that pretended to be paradise."

Logan looks over at him with disapproval. "Keller…with that attitude I'm gonna send you right back."

Beside me, Julian rolls his eyes but doesn't comment. My mentor directs his gaze at me now, and I can see that he is not pleased. "You keep him in line," he orders.

I say nothing. Logan turns and heads over to his copilot, Kitty Pryde.

"The nerve," Julian mumbles to me. I shake my head and tap my ear, to remind him of my mentor's superior auditory organs. He sighs. "Wanna go explore the ruins?"

"Okay," I say.

We head down the gravel path toward the remains of the school, Julian pointing out various things to me. "That's where I used to play Frisbee with Santo and Victor," he says. "And over there is where Josh Foley attacked me once. Whatever the fuck happened to him?"

"He disappeared after he killed Kevin Ford," I say.

"Oh, right." He shakes his head. "God, they were both equally weird…and smell girl…I always knew they would come to a sticky end."

I say nothing in response, but pause—beside the graveyard—and look at him, in question.

"Yeah, I guess we should." He opens the gate with his mind. It squeaks loudly. "Amazed this made it. Ever hear the school's unofficial motto?"

"No," I say, following him.

"Always room for one more in the Xavier Cemetery."

I say nothing. We stop in front of a large and well-known tombstone that says _Jean Grey-Summers: She Will Rise Again. _"Think she's still in there?" Julian asks, his nose wrinkled.

"No," I say. "Domino attempted to exhume her a while ago, just before Psylocke was resurrected. The bones in the coffin were not Jean Grey's."

"…oh." His forehead wrinkles. "Well, where'd they go then?"

"Your guess is probably as good as mine." I look away from her tombstone, feeling ill at ease. This is a woman whose legacy has cost my friends a great deal. The woman who Logan plans to honor with this school. I catch myself hoping that she will not return.

"Yeah, let's move on," Julian says. "I want to see Brian's grave." He moves ahead and I follow, giving Jean Grey's tombstone a last look. I sense that she is not finished with us. After a moment I join him at the other end of the row, in front of Brian Cruz's grave. We stand for a while in silence, Julian biting his lip and clenching his fists.

I hear voices on the path and I touch his shoulder, thinking that he probably wants privacy. He closes his eyes, nods, and then we move to the gate again, our boots raising small dust clouds on the dirt path. It has been a very dry summer at the school, and there has been no irrigation because the water was turned off.

"Hey—Laura," he says suddenly, when we reach what used to be the fountain. I stop, look at him expectantly. His voice sounds strained.

"Yes?" I ask.

"I wanted to…" he pauses, shrugs. "I want to apologize."

I raise my eyebrows. I have actually never heard him offer an apology when there is nothing for him to gain. "For what?" I ask.

He frowns. "I was mean to you…when you first came here."

I say nothing.

"You didn't deserve it," he continues. "I was having a rough time. My life basically fell apart…my friends were dying…my girlfriend left without telling me…Miss Frost was suddenly treating me like crap she stepped in and..." he reaches up and rubs his neck. "My parents disowned me…and when I went to find them, after Deathstrike gutted me…well, they moved without telling me where." He clears his throat. "But you ended up being the only real friend I'd ever have—and I don't know why you'd want to be after how I treated you—and I just wanted to tell you that you're the best thing that's happened to me."

I don't know what to say at first. Of all the things he has tried to tell me so far since I knocked on his door, this has made the most sense to me—and has garnered the deepest reaction. I am reminded of my family, Megan and Debbie, on the night that I had parted ways with them at the Peace Arch Crossing. My eyes burn, and I reach for him instinctively, the same gesture of comfort and reciprocation that I had offered to my cousin before I turned away.

"Hey—shhh, it's okay," he says, surprised. "I didn't want to make you sad."

I don't say anything, but I press my face and mouth against his neck. I feel a lightening of my intense worry that I will never understand him, that I will never fit in anywhere. Perhaps some things are universal. He strokes my back and whispers my name several times. "Maybe this is a good place to start over," he says after a while.

I nod. I like the thought he has presented, of starting over.

"Want to go see if there's anything cool left in the sub-basement?" he asks.

"Okay," I say. We proceed into the ruins of the school.


End file.
